


A Song Of Unseen Feelings And Human Characters

by starrynights234



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Mention Robb You Cowards, Probably a lot of Robb Stark mentioning, Self-Indulgent, and im satisfied, lots of platonic love, people talk about their feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 12:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18873094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrynights234/pseuds/starrynights234
Summary: A collection of scenes that were either brushed over during Season 8, or I wanted to happen.Very self-indulgent.Read if you like to read a lot of heart-to-hearts and real character development (ft reactions to things that should've been shown).





	A Song Of Unseen Feelings And Human Characters

The soup is salty; the texture swapping violently from grainy and watery, to chunky and chewy. But it’s warm and to Theon that makes it the best soup he’s had in years.

He spoons another mysterious mouthful toward his mouth when he notices Sansa looking at him. The steam kissed his top lip as he looks back, brows twitching as he tries to piece together the expression on her face. The Sansa he'd known was full of pain - dull eyes, pallid skin, tight lips. But this Sansa was so... open. Her mouth was curled into a gentle smile, and her eyes were bright and focused and staring at him in a way that made his stomach clench and his heartache. It was like... home. Just in a look. 

"I'm glad you're here." Her voice was so different. Soft but strong, gentle in her heartfelt words but confident in each syllable, "I know that coming back must have been..." She searches for the word to describe the hell they had gone through, the turbulent rollercoaster of the years they'd spent between these walls, "Difficult." 

Theon swallowed his soup and his hand hovers in the middle area between his mouth and his bowl, and his eyes fall to his feet, the guilt and the hate sizzled beneath his skin, "I did it for you..." 

And he had. Her face had been branded into his mind for the months they'd been apart. One of his only reasons to stop himself from throwing himself overboard and just sink beneath the waves and forget. 

"...for Winterfell..." 

This castle was towering and dark and looming and full of memories. He could see the two boys' burned bodies hanging over the gate; Summer and Shaggydog chasing a tiny, laughing Rickon around the courtyard; Ramsey watching him from the window as he sits naked in the snow and waits for the sun to rise but hoping for the hypothermia to end it; Jon and Arya play-wrestling and pushing each other into dirty hay and laughing; a puddle of blood; a flayed man on a banner; a ruffle of red curls and a wry grin circled by ginger scruff- 

"...for him." 

Sansa tilted her head and blinks. Then she realises with a twitching raise of her eyebrows. Her eyes soften. 

"He would be proud of you." She says and she means it. Theon shakes his head and drops his spoon into his half-empty bowl. 

"No. He wouldn't. He'd hate me and he'd be right to." His voice is quiet, a testament to how he'd come to terms with this long ago - the mistakes he'd made were unforgivable, and if he were here, Theon wouldn't be surprised if wasn't executed where he stood, "He'd be truly right to-" 

Sansa's hand was on his cheek, pulling his gaze from where he hadn't noticed had strayed to her knees back up to hers. Eyes so like his - round, dark blue, surrounded by long red eyelashes, "He'd understand. He'd know what-" 

"Jon almost killed me." He said suddenly and Sansa stopped, lips parted in shock but her hand stayed steady against the unkempt stubble on his jaw, "We met again at Dragonstone. I'd arrived with the survivors of the Iron Fleet and he was there. He had grabbed me, yanked me towards him and told me the only reason he wasn't killing me was that I had helped you." Theon shook his head again, blinking away the moisture in his eyes. Sansa's thumb met the corner of his eye, "Do you think he wouldn't have reacted the same? No. He was the King in the North. He'd swing the sword just as Lord Stark had and taken my head as a traitor." 

"You're wrong." 

Theon barked bitterly, wanting to bat away the soft heat of Sansa's hand but he couldn't bring himself to and instead looked away, "What? He’d be merciful? He'd look at me and know what I'd done to his home, his kingdom, his family." 

Sansa's thumb suddenly dug into the dip on his chin and forced his head back and down to her, her jaw tight but her eyes sad. 

"You were his family too, Theon." 

The tears he'd managed to suppress came rushing back and he swallowed thickly, "Sansa, don't-" 

"No. I am the Lady of Winterfell and you will listen to me Theon Greyjoy." For a moment her voice had a twinge of that pre-pubescent whine that had serenaded his youth. He couldn't stop the flicker of a smile. 

"You have lost as much as a man could lose without dying. You have been manipulated, tortured, broken; had your soul ripped in two and sown back together by a monster. And you still saved me. You still saved your sister. You still did what was right even when you had every excuse not to.” Her voice had grown soft and vulnerable, thumb rubbing against his chin. 

“Theon Greyjoy, you are my brother as much as he was.” 

The snow fell slowly around them, sticking to flaming red locks of Sansa’s hair, her eyelashes, her furs. Theon's vision was blurring with tears and through the unfocused haze she was almost him on the night Theon had caught him in the courtyard. 

It was nearing midnight and Theon had been unable to sleep, his mind full of Bran and his body unable to sink into the right position in his cot; his blanket too hot, the outside too cold. He’d eventually figured himself in need of a walk to reset his body and a few moments later was wandering through the courtyard. But it was the Weirwood where he had found him. 

He was sat on the ground on his cloak, red curls vibrant and lit like a flame against the pale tree and the thin layer of new snow. Theon approached slowly but loud enough to not startle him and settled himself beside him, staring at the peaceful face in the trunk. 

“Can’t sleep?” He’d eventually said. 

“No.” Was his short reply, rough and hoarse. Theon turned and was shocked to see the tears on his cheeks. His words died in this throat. The snowflakes stuck to his messy curls, melting and dripping onto his nose but he didn’t flinch. He just kept looking at the tree, “Do you think the gods are punishing us?” 

Theon frowned, “For what?” 

“I don’t know,” He sniffed and blinked away a snowflake, “Maybe... for something we haven’t done yet.” 

Theon could only stare at the hard profile of his friend softly weeping over cold bitten cheeks, his bottom lip quivering betrayed the sharp mature lines of his brow and the shadow of scruff across his jaw. His gaze suddenly shifted, rising up and up into the rustling scarlet foliage, black-blue eyes catching the moonlight to explode in silver and beaming an all-revealing light across the earthly manifestation of the gods. 

“That would be cruel,” He whispered harshly, the muscles in his jaw clenching and his brow creased deeply, “To punish someone for an act they have no knowledge in performing and have no conscious way to avoid.” 

"But they will have still done it," Theon murmured, unsure exactly of the existential edge his friend danced upon, his sixteen years of blind faith seemingly questioned in this one snowy night huddled next to his closest friend as he spat out his grieve over the unjust paralysis of his brother. 

Theon wrapped a gloved hand wrapped around his and gently squeezed. Robb squeezed it. The snow continued to fall. 

Sansa squeezes his hand back and Theon is struck again at how similar they are. Or rather were. 

Sansa meets his eyes and all he can see is his wet, blue eyes staring back at him, surrounded by crimson leaves and snowflakes in his hair. 

“Robb would be proud of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> We have one episode left and we haven't mention Robb yet so I have officially given up hope. But that will not stop my writing.


End file.
